Timmy Down The Well
by She-Goes-Left
Summary: A phone call in the early morning sends the team scrambling to find their missing agent. Only trouble is, the people who took them don't intend to stop at just one...
1. Part I

_A/N: Written for Sergeant Conley. Four parts._

**- PART I -**

Somewhere high above him, the rope breaks with a jolt of snapping fibres.

He falls. There is a second of blank, vacant fear when the rope goes limp in his hand. In the dark there is no concept of falling but the cry whipped away from his mouth.

Then he hits water; his chest drives inward. White boils over his head, the rope slices through the water to smack into his shoulders. The shock of cold forces his mouth wide, but he cannot breathe.

No other thought. It is cold, and he cannot breathe.

He thrashes, fights the blackness. His fists hit stone and he claws at the rock, dragging himself above water. He chokes on half air and half rancid water, stares up and up to the small jagged circle of light above him.

They say you can see stars from the bottom of a well. From here, it looks like the sun – above him, the sky is just yellowing from the dawn.

Then a shadow passes; the crescent thins, the sun shrinks away to darkness. No afterglow.

There's just nothing.

* * *

"Agent Gibbs…"

….

"Hello…?"

…

*click*

* * *

There's no light at all.

The walls are stone, covered in slime. His hands slide away as he clings to the grooves in the rock. He gasps for breath, scrabbling madly at the walls. Water soaks upward through his clothes, slaps against his head in his thrashing. He feels the weight of it dragging him down; water nips at his ears. The rope is coiled around his ankle, growing heavier with ever second. It is only as his head is dragged beneath the water that he is able to shake his foot free.

It's dark, but sound bounces across the walls. He hears his sobbing breath reflected over and over, and it startles him into silence.

Just the slaps of water against rock, and his heart thudding in his chest as he treads water.

Not as cold as it was, but it takes his breath away. His arms are shivering, his chest aches. But he is not hurt, he is not dead. He tells himself to wait, finding fingerholds in the rock. Maybe soon his eyes will adjust; then he can climb free. His mind starts to return; slinks in, scared and low.

Why? _Why? _

He saw nothing. Just woke at three AM when a gun was rammed against his throat; never saw the man holding it because the bag was over his head that fast. Dragged downstairs to be thrown into the trunk of his own car, to fight duct tape for what was surely hours - seeing as how light the sky was when they pulled him out, and the bleakness of the place. Though he looked around during the slow march up the hill, he could see nothing. Not even a road. Just him, them, and the pit in the earth.

Not once was he given a sign of why. The only words spoken were the choice they gave him at the top of the pit.

Be lowered down, or thrown.

He can see nothing; it's been a while now. Guess his eyes can't adjust to no light at all. There's nothing to see, anyway. Just a white faced man that'll still be wearing his star trek T-shirt when they find him dead. And he doesn't understand. Wants the why of those three silent men who dropped him down here.

_What did I do to you?_

* * *

"Hello?"

….

"Either you say something now or forever hold your peace, because the phone is going down my garbage disposal at the end of this call."

_"That'd be a bad idea."_

"…And why would that be?"

…

"Why do you keep calling me?"

_"What time is it?_"

"You got a point you're working towards?"

_"It's very important that you look at the time, Agent Gibbs."_

"Why?"

_"Because you've only got twenty two hours left."_

"…twenty two hours until what?"

_"Probably a bad idea to get rid of the phone."_

*click*

* * *

There it is again.

The feeling of earth crumbling under his feet, though it was so solid just a minute ago. Surely he's learnt by now that these things are not set in stone, that the earth can shift and buck suddenly beneath him. He should know this things are coming.

He never knows.

He's out the door in under two minutes.

* * *

"Hey, Boss!"

"Where's McGee?"

"He's not in yet. Is—"

"What about Abby?"

"I have not seen her—"

"Can you find out who the last person to call my cell was?"

"Uh…."

"I am not as fast as McGee, but…"

"Do it."

…

"What's happened, Boss?"

"I don't know yet."

"Crank call?"

"If I knew, ya think I would have said?"

"I cannot find anything."

"Nothing?"

"According to your records, you have received no calls since yesterday afternoon. The last logged was Agent Farnsworth."

"Someone has called me four times since 3 AM. I_ talked_ to them."

"What did they say?"

"Twenty two hours."

"…Until what?… Boss! Where the hell is he going?"

"Abby. But Tony…"

"This is bad, this is very bad. Did you see his face? It's like _Nightmare on Elmstreet_, when you hear Freddy sharpening his nails down the phone."

"Tony."

"Actually, knowing Gibbs, this is probably going to be more like Alex in_ Fatal Attraction-_"

"Tony!"

"_What_?"

"…Where is McGee?"

* * *

She drives with her foot crushing the accelerator to the floor. Tony digs his fingers into the upholstery, but doesn't say a word.

It had only taken four words for Gibbs to send them out, he and Abby bent over the computer. That, and seeing Abby's eyes widen.

McGee is never late.

There's a prickling across his cheeks, like burning. The old fear is tugging at his ribs, but he's not quite ready to get scared.

While they drives he rationalises, because there's nothing else to do and Ziva's jaw is clenched too tight for conversation. For all he knows they will arrive and get a call from McGee, already at the office and now very annoyed that they just kicked his door down. Maybe his alarm didn't go off and he'll have a heart attack when they storm into his bedroom with guns.

The last one comes as Ziva brakes in front of his building, the jerk sending the seatbelt cutting into his chest.

Maybe he's been dead since yesterday, and they never felt anything at all.

He fumbles for the spare key they dug out of his desk, nearly drops it as they move through the quiet halls. His eyes are on the ground, because by instinct he checks for blood drops and footprints. Nothing but dust and mud streaks. Somehow, that makes his heart beat faster.

His gut is not like Gibbs. He can't sense these things coming. This fear is growing with iron bands around his chest and his lungs are starting to wheeze. All he can do is wait for that final stab right through the heart, which comes as there is no doubt something has gone drastically wrong.

They pause outside his door, listen. Ziva reaches to twist the door handle, and it turns completely. Unlocked.

There. Spike shooting through his chest. He grips his gun tighter.

She throws open the door, and they are through with guns up.

The words they had, whatever they were, die as they stare.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Gibbs. Ziva was right. There's nothing on the official records."

"Look, Abbs. I've got it in my call history."

"I know, that's what makes this weird. I mean, they'd have had to go in and delete these calls from the server. That means direct connections with the host. I mean, I don't even think the_ CIA_ could do that... not in three hours, anyway."

"Can you work out who did?"

"No. Not in anything like the time you need. Or without breaking the phone. But…"

"But what?"

"McGee... might have been able to."

…

"He's okay, isn't he?"

* * *

All of it was gone.

No bookcase. No desk. No couch, no table, no curtains. No typewriter. Bare walls, bare floor. A room of nothing.

No McGee.

She takes a step forward, gun still up and not quite believing. The room seems suddenly much bigger with nothing in it, filled with its vacancy and silence.

Tony moves into the kitchen, where the fridge sits silent. That calms her slightly; for it means it is not magic, not a trick of her mind. It is a human fault to not be able to carry a fridge. It is empty when he opens it, as are the cupboard. She looks in the bedroom, and although there are slight dents in the carpet where the bed and bedside table used to rest, it is empty.

She thinks vaguely she should have somehow guessed, given Gibbs's look when he sent them here. He had that look her father sometimes wore, right before people began dying. Though Gibbs at least had the decency to try and hide it.

Tony leaves abruptly, heading downstairs to check for a car. She stands in the silence, uncomprehending.

Why?

They have erased him. There is nothing left, not even a fingerprint in the bathroom. Even the smell has been stolen; she always fancied his home smelt faintly of peanut butter toast. The only smell now is of something piney, like a cleaner.

The thought jerks her into focus; she follows it, comes to near the wall beside the window. There used to be a poster here, she remembers; some old space movie she'd never heard of. There is a faint gleam on the wood. She touches it, feels the stickiness of where the tape was removed.

He was here. They did not imagine him. But someone else was here too; Someone had come and removed him, to prove a point.

_But what is the point?_

Where had the flesh and blood McGee gone?

She heard the door click behind her, turned around to tell Tony of the mark. Then she froze.

* * *

…

_"Twenty one hours now, Agent Gibbs."_

"Where is he?"

_"Who?"_

"Agent McGee. What did you do to him."

_"Oh, him? He's dead."_

"...You're lying."

_"Ask your agents. They're at his house now."_

"He is not dead."

"Hmm. Feel it in your gut, Gibbs?"

"If he were dead, the deadline is irrelevant."

_"You've misunderstood the nature of the deadline, Gibbs. That's how long until the last phonecall. That'll be when I tell you the last of your agents are dead."_

"…Who are you?"

_"You have to be more careful with your questions. You only get one. That better not be it."_

...

_"Twenty hours and thirty minutes. You have fun now."_

* * *

No car.  
Not even a grease spot.

He climbs slowly up the stairs, hesitating to return to that room. Then the thing that bothers him most causes him to pause on the second flight of stairs.

It's never him

It's never McGee. He who somehow avoids being the one who gets hurt, probably because the universe knows that of all of them, he deserves it least.

But yet, somehow, it is always Gibbs; he is the target, always. They are convenient dogs to kill to prove a point. He saw her die in front of his eyes, and now its happening all over again.

Maybe he was an easy target… no. Not an easy target. Not anymore. But he must have been important, they must have needed him out of the way.

He's just coming out the door to McGee's floor when he hears the gunshot.

There is a sudden flash of heat on his face; then he's running, gun already out (_why did you leave her?_) as he throws open the door.

They're on the floor. Ziva and some strange man. He has a sudden moment of reflection that this must have been how it looked when she found him with Michael Rivkin. Judging by the man and the hole she blew in his chest, he's equally doomed.

Ziva struggles to her feet, clutching her bleeding side. The man still grips the knife, edge glowing red.

* * *

"Ziva, you're—"

"I am fine. You, talk."

"Heheh..."

"You heard her."

"You s… shouldn't have p-pissed him off like that."

"Who?"

"Heh. Heheheh."

"Where is he?"

"We killed him, Anthony DiNozzo. Agent McGee is dead."


	2. Part II

**- PART II -**

It's getting hard to hold onto the walls; his clothes are getting heavy. He sucks in a breath and tries to float, but they drag him down and he panics.

He can't climb out. He tried it, nearly broke his fingers doing it too – there's no grip on the walls. If he could see, maybe, then he could find the best rocks, but it's just the pads of his fingers and he thinks he might be stuck down here.

Do they even know he's gone? What if he dies here, and they don't even know he's gone?

There's a metal pole on the side, slightly above his head. He holds onto it, grips it tight. Cold is starting to gnaw through his skin into the muscles, and his stroke is becoming weaker.

The thing that gets him is the sound. It's water, quiet smacks against the stone and the slow swish of him moving, but they are contained; trapped by the walls they bounce round and round until it's almost deafening. He tried talking to himself to drown it out but the sound echoing was far, far worse. When he yelled before it came out as one long groan like from the bottom of the earth.  
He wishes he could block his ears, but he has to keep his head above water for as long as he can.

What if they've forgotten him?

* * *

"Got the FBI and the other teams on the case. I just wish you'd told me before you send David and DiNozzo in."

"Didn't want to set off a false alarm, Director."

"With you, Gibbs, it's never a false alarm."

…

"Is she alright?"

"Oh her way to Emergency with DiNozzo."

"And the man?"

"The morgue."

"That's unfortunate."

"Unfortunate may underchange the situation slightly, Leon. But she wouldn't…"

"I know your team, Gibbs. I don't need you to try and justify it. She wouldn't have shot unless she thought she had to."

…

"What we need to focus on now is the phonecalls. That's our only lead so far, and the dead man."

"Warrant for the phone company?"

"Legal's on it, and Abby's tracking them as best she can. We've got your phone bugged, too. He calls again, she'll be running a trace and trying to match the voice. Ducky and Palmer are waiting for the body, and Agent Farnsworth's team are sending evidence even as we speak."

…

"Was there any sign in his apartment that Agent McGee…?"

"None."

"Then Agent McGee is not dead until we have proof."

* * *

He's not dead.

She knows this with every fibre of her being; every cell from the pads of her feet to her head is vibrating with it. McGee is not dead. The man on Gibbs's phone can say it, the dead man in the morgue can say it, but until she sees it for herself she will believe nothing.

The pictures from Agent Farnsworth are starting to come in, and it makes her shake; empty rooms, and a man's body across the floor.

_Did you take him?_

The cell phone company is resisting her attempts to break through; it cuts her to see the firewalls pop up, because McGee could have gotten through them without a blink. They've put her in the Catch-22, and if she ever finds who did it they'll wish they could disappear.

Another screen locks her out. She bares her teeth at it, then takes a breath.

_I'm trying, McGee. I'm trying._

* * *

_"Gibbs?"_

"Tony? You still at emergency?"

_"Yeah; she'll be fine, looks like it was just cuts from the knife. She's getting stitches and a blood transfusion now."_

"Good, good…"

_"They're really after us, aren't they?"_

"Stay at the hospital. We're sending agents."

_"Body guards again, huh?"_

"Yeah."

_"Just an ordinary Monday, then. See you in a bit, Boss."_

* * *

He can't keep this up; his muscles are starting to shiver, his grip is gone, and he swallows mouthfuls of water. Right now he's trying to keep his feet rammed up against the walls, but he can't do it forever.

Water's getting colder, and his grip on the pipe is slipping. Breathing hard again, but from tiredness. He's so tired, he just wants to shut his eyes. If only he could stop for a moment and sleep... there is a flash of water over his face as he sinks. The cold knocks him awake, and he swims back up with limbs that feel heavy and sleepy. Then he remembers.

The rope; it's somewhere below him now. He can use it to tie himself to the pole, and he won't have to swim anymore.

He extends a foot, kicks a little to see if there is a bounce off effect of the water. He's almost forgotten that there is a sense like seeing; It's all touch now.

Nothing.

He hesitates. He doesn't want to put his head underwater. Doesn't know how deep it is, and the cold is like poison. But if he doesn't, he dies.

He sucks in a breath, goes under. The odd, silent water gnaws at his cheeks as he sinks. Pressure is starting to build in his ears when his foot hits something hard. The bottom. He swims back up, takes a breath. Okay, not that deep. Just keep diving until he can find it.

Down again. He sinks deep, brings his hands down carefully. It feels like mostly mud; rocks and dead wood stick out from the surface. He recoils as his hand hits something with sharp edges. A stone, probably. Could he use it to cut the rope, maybe….?

He touches it again. The bottom is jagged, but the top is a round dome. His hands move down, and fingers lock into two cavities in the front.

* * *

"Have you worked out who you managed to piss off?"

"Don't know. We've been looking over our last few cases, but so far…"

"The poisoning on the USS Franklin, Petty Officer Stanmore's suicide, the shipment of AK-47s in Norfolk, the shooting of Lieutenant Lisa Fanshaw and George Kim…"

"There's nothing."

"Nothing?"

"The poisoning was an accident. The AKs were a tip off from the Egyptian Intelligence Service…"

"...and we confirmed the suicide and Fanshaw got hit by a junkie."

"Must be something old, then."

"Then we won't have time."

"Leon…"

"You've got a long list of enemies, Gibbs. McGee can't wait that long."

* * *

He nearly drowns from fright. Inhales water, throws himself away and up. His lungs jerk at the water and there are flashes in front of his eyes. He breaks through the surface, floundering and gagging up water.

He knows what it was down there, and is too scared to do anything more than whimper.

_No, no, no._

God, he wants to get out of here. Someone, anyone, just pull him out. Even if they kill him at the top, at least he isn't here in the dark with that thing underneath him.

Water sloshes over his head as he struggles to keep his head up; his fingers are too cold to hold the pipe.

Over his struggling, there is a quiet voice in his head.

_If you don't get that rope, you will sink down there with them._

No. He doesn't want to go back down there.

_But you will, one way or another._

He grips the metal tight for a moment, as long as he can. Steadies his breath, then takes a big gulp of air and sinks back down.

He knows it's not twigs anymore, but he keeps his hands moving. He has to go up for air and back down twice before he finds the rope near the edge, half buried in mud. It's soaked with water, lags behind as he tries to swim back up.

He manages to loop it over the pipe, yank it hard. The circle that had supported his foot on the journey down is big enough to pull over his head and under his arm. He wraps it round and round himself, till he is caught like a fly. He can barely move, and if it comes loose he's going to be in big trouble.

But for now it holds him up, away from the water. He can at last shut his eyes.

* * *

"Got anything, Abbs?"

"No. Just twigs and cigarettes and guy who's supposed to have been dead for six years. What about you?"

"We're up to E through G of people who Gibbs pissed off. If you want to papier-mâchée the Eiffel Tower later, I've got you covered."

…

"So… you gonna take this Caf!Pow?"

"I think if I drink anything I might be sick."

"Sometimes you feel better afterwards when you do that."

"I don't want to feel better. I can do that after we find a lead. I mean... we've got nothing, Tony. We don't even know how they got rid of his furniture. How can no one have seen anything? You think fourteen guys walking around with a bed in the dead of night would have made some noise, would have at least woken the neighbours dog, or, or…"

"They have to have been planning this for a long time."

"Then they're going to get you, too."

"I…"

….

…

"Put this on."

"What?"

"Remember when you went missing with Jeffery White, Tony? The GPS chip?"

"Oh, yeah! I remember that. Actually, I remember that it didn't work. My shoe got wet."

"If you go missing, we can find you. Okay?"

"Abby, we—"

"Please."

"Okay."

"Don't step in any water this time."

"I'll do my best, Abbs."

* * *

They've got nothing. A hundred people from two separate agencies working, but they can't manage to work out how a man and his possessions managed to vanish overnight. There is no where to look. He has as good as evaporated from the face of the earth, and they cannot follow him.

There is a thought gathering at the back of his mind, that grows louder for every dead end they find.

Maybe they'll never find him.

There is vibration through the wood of his desk, and he glances down at his cell. Text message. It's blank, but he knows exactly what it says.

_Fifteen hours. Tick tock._

* * *

"Vance just called; state troopers found McGee's car abandoned by the I-70 W, near Bedford in Pennsylvania. They've got teams searching."

"No sign of him?"

"No sign."

…

"Warrant's come through for the cell company's files."

"Send Agent Goh's team out."

"Sure."

…

"What, Tony?"

"Boss, I'm no use here. You know I'm no good at paperwork."

"I know."

…

"Vance is sending a van to pick up Ziva from the hospital. Go with the agents and debrief her on the way back."

"Thanks."

* * *

He can't feel his legs anymore.

He's just realised. Floating on the surface of the water, he notices that he's got no legs. He can barely feel a thing below his waist; just a torso floating in the water. Only stumps for hands as well; when he moves them, he feels nothing. The rope is cutting into his shoulder, but even that is starting to fade.

Doesn't seem to bother him anymore.

* * *

"Ziva?"

_"Hello, Gibbs. Did I get the time I was supposed to be picked up from the hospital wrong?"_

"Haven't they got there yet?"

_"No. I am still with the security guard."_

"….Call you back, okay?"

_"...sure."_

…

…

…

"C'mon, DiNozzo. Pick up. Pick up…"

* * *

They find them dead.

All three of them, shot between the eyes, still in the van at the bottom of the hill.

And Tony is gone.

He'd barely seen it before his cell starts to ring.

* * *

_"That's two."_

"What the hell did I ever do to you?"

_"What makes you think this has anything to do with you, Gibbs?"_

"..."

_"You made yourself known. The Reynosa drug Cartel, La Grenouille. Now those AK-47s. You've got some big game hanging up on your walls."_

"What was so special about the guns?"

"_Nothing, really. It did cost a certain someone quite a lot of money and clientele, though. Besides, it's so very hard to live down, a loss to Leroy Jethro Gibbs. If it's any consolation, my Boss would rather have just shot you and be done with it. Man doesn't have a romantic bone in his body._"

"Would have been nice. A fair fight, at least."

"_No, Gibbs. It wouldn't have been fair at all._"

* * *

The call ends. He stares at the phone, and the three dead men being dragged from the car.

Not a romantic bone in his body.

It spikes him through the throat, catches like a hook. He's heard that before, not so long ago from a man who had tried a similar thing with Gibbs, and failed. Alexandro Reynosa, right before he'd hung himself in jail. Said it to him on the last visit where Gibbs had told him he was never getting out.

_You would make a good one of us. You've got an art to the way you kill._

He said nothing to that, walked away without a backward glance, but it dug at an old wound. Not the first time one sibling has killed another in front of his eyes, that he orchestrated to some degree; it's a pattern that he doesn't like to think about.

But worse, he understands the sentiment. It was the same back home, growing up with hunters. There is no joy in taking out a stag with a machine gun. These people are no different. The odds are so much in their favour, it's no fun at all to just kill as they could.  
Not even they can take the unfairness of it all.

So they use their smallest gun, and wait and watch him run for the exit._ Give you a sporting chance, Gibbs. That way when you lose, you know you could have stopped it._

Two of his men are gone.

Ziva is sitting across from him in the armoured van, watching him with a white face. Because now there are two, and she's worked out what will happen next.

* * *

"What's happened? People are going crazy up there."

"Abbs, they found the van."

"...what do you mean, 'found'?"

"Tony's missing."

* * *

The trunk opens at last, and he blinks up through the blood.

Rough hands haul him out, dump him on his feet. He staggers, legs weak after being cramped so long. A gun jabs him in the back, and tells him to walk. He turns his head, tries to get a better mark on them; the gun smacks him across the shoulder, and he keeps his head down.

He knows they will, if he gives them the slightest reason. They killed three men in front of his eyes without so much as pausing.

He tries to tell himself it wasn't his fault. Some distant part of him notices that there are three of them for the guards, enough to take their place. They would have gotten her on the way back from the hospital, and it was just his dumb luck to be there in between when they hit.

But a deeper part knows that he still walked away when they did not, and so he is somehow at fault.

_Sorry, Boss. I don't know how I do it._

They drag him up the hill, into the woods. He tries to dig his heels in, leave a trail. But one man lingers behind, and slowly erases their path through the woods.

They stop. Rocks and leaves are kicked away, revealing the metal plate with a heavy rock over the top. Two of them move it aside, and he starts to feel sick. It's only the fear clenching his throat tight that stops him when they pull back the metal to show the crack in the earth.

Far below, there is the sound of water.


	3. Part III

****

- PART III -

"No, no, no!"

"Abby, what—"

"I lost it. He's gone."

"Abby, what the hell are you talking about?"

"He had a chip on him. I put a GPS chip on him. I wasn't fast enough. Why didn't you _tell_ me he was gone?"

"Abby—"

"Gibbs, why do you never talk to us? It's always just you against them, and we sit here and we die because we know you, and we don't know why. You never ask from help, you never listen. None of you do, I _told_ him not to get it wet – oh god, what if it's blood, Gibbs? What if that was..."

"I'm sorry."

"…What?"

"I'm sorry, Abby."

"No. Don't do that. You're not allowed to do that."

"A—"

"Just... No."

...

"I uh... I m-managed to narrow down the search range before I lost the signal. I got ten square miles he might be in."

…

"Gibbs, look."

"…Is there much to search?"

"Three farms, woods, rivers. Just nothing."

"Sent it up to Vance, he can direct it to the other teams and the FBI. Stay here and watch that signal in case it comes back."

"So..."

"It's fine, Abbs."

"...Be safe, Gibbs."

* * *

They drop him not far from the water. He suspects this is what getting electrocuted feels like; for a second he cannot move at all, then he's suddenly writhing, muscles going berserk.

The cold is monstrous; he fights his way out of the water, tries to climb the walls to get away from it as the light above starts to fade. His hand hits something cold and soft, and he sees what it is just before the light is gone.

He screams.

Honest to god screams, because McGee's down there too.

Would have done it again if he had any air left, because there is a splutter of water as McGee jerks conscious.

* * *

"Wha…?"

"Y-you're not dead?"

"…Tony?"

"My God McGee, learn to keep your eyes open! Jesus Christ…"

"Sorry."

"…"

"G-got you too, huh?"

"Yeah. Bad luck, I guess. You okay?"

"Kinda cold."

"But you're alive. If you are dead, don't tell me. I'd rather hallucinate."

"Way too cold to b-be dead."

"Geez, you're freezing. Man, we've been looking for you for hours."

"Really?"

"Well yeah, it's not like me and Ziva can deal with Gibbs on our own. We're nothing without our McGeek."

"You're just saying that b-because we're freezing to death."

"Little bit. Still, nice warming feeling, huh?"

...

"They're coming, McGee. We're gonna be okay."

* * *

She watches them leave from the window. All of them silent, moving fast. Two cars peel away, sirens squealing into life.

She watches Vance talking to Gibbs; no doubt telling him not to do anything stupid. Ziva stands beside him, very white; whether from her injury or fear Abby can't tell. Vance tried to make her stay at NCIS, but she refused point blank. Abby wonders vaguely if she wants them to try to take her, so she can give them retribution.

Ducky comes up beside her, Palmer on the other. Ducky grips her elbow, Palmer pats her awkwardly on the shoulder until she takes his hand. She hears their thoughts so loud they might as well be spoken; this is equal chance a body retrieval as a rescue mission.

The car doors shut; Vance steps away, and they pull away with flashing lights. He heart tightens as she remembers.

While Gibbs and Vance had been arguing about letting Ziva go, Abby had sidled up to her and pressed a second chip into her hand. Ziva had looked at it, then zipped it into the pocket of her jacket without turning. Abby moved away, the last thing she heard being Vance telling Gibbs that she was not to leave his sight.

She had turned back at that; the look on his face had been easily read. That they would have to kill him to take her away.

Abby, though, sees something more. Can see the thought he says to himself over and over.

_You should have done as much for them._

* * *

_"Howdy, Gibbs."_

"You want something, dirtbag?"

_"Just seeing how you're going."_

"Why do you call me? What's the point?"

_"Remember what I said, Gibbs. You only get one question. The answer to that one would be a waste."_

...

_"So? Nothing at all?"_

"You're not going to kill me, are you."

_"No."_

"Why?"

_"What's the point of it all if you're dead?"_

* * *

They drive, but not to Bedford – way away, to West Virginia. Car was a decoy, it seems.

Ziva sits silent, eyes shut. The sirens have faded to the periphery, and she tries to make herself doze. She's drained and tired from the burning ache in her side, but her mind circles endlessly through nothing, like the smile of the man she killed and the wondering if they will ever recover McGee's possessions. Trying to stop the feeling that she will find them both dead.

In the end she opens her eyes, glances around. Across from her, Gibbs sits with eyes shut. He is no more sleeping that she was; he's collecting himself, drawing in energy. She remembers that Tony once said he was solar powered, and almost smiles.

She looks out to the trees rushing past by the road, looks further to the horizon. Sky is starting to tinge red like it's burning. Her forehead crinkles, something stirring at the edge of her mind. Something one of them said, or maybe both…

No, she remembers. It was McGee, when they were waiting for smugglers on a Navy vessel. Crouched at a gunport and watching the sun set in a sky the colour of blood.

_Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky in the morning, sailor's warning._

He had explained a red sunset meant days of good weather. It doesn't comfort her now - the weather is bitterly cold at night, and no cloud cover will make it all the more colder.

She turns her mind away, looks down at the map folded across her knees. Gibbs had taken one look at it and pointed at one half mile stetch of trees.

_Somewhere in those woods._

She shuts her eyes again, winces. She feels slightly dizzy, and there's a patch of damp against her elbow. She is fairly sure she's bleeding through the dressing, but she can worry about that later.

They can drive as fast as they can, but it'll take hours to reach them. As far as she heard, Vance had mobilized forty agents for the immediate search.

Forty agents spread over ten miles.

Four per mile.

* * *

"Heh."

"…What?"

"Just realised something."

"Yeah?"

"We've fallen down the well, Timmy."

…

"McGee?"

…

"If you don't talk it's just going to be me talking, and can you really stand the idea of that?"

"No, not… really…"

"Hey, keep awake. "

"Okay."

…

"What movie was that… from, anyway?"

"What?"

"Timmy down the well."

"I dunno, I can't remember."

…

"Maybe it wasn't from one at all."

…

"They're looking for us, Tim. We were looking for you. You just have to stay awake, okay?"

"…S-sorry…c-can't..."

* * *

The sun is setting. Five hours since Tony was gone, eleven since McGee. Time was so slow before, but now it shoots ahead, snakes away from them.

They've been out here for two hours, but it's not looking good. Nothing in the farms, the fields, the deserted roads. Helicopters pass overhead, but they see nothing. This will be their last pass before dark.

Gibbs stares at his phone, waiting for a call. Anything.

Now, it is silent.

* * *

_"Searched all the first quadrant. Moving to the second, over."_

"Just finishing on the on the ninth, over."

* * *

Six hours.

He remembers the case, now. AK-47s, two containers full of them. Barely a mornings' work, and none of them had thought about it since.

No, not quite correct. He remembers seeing McGee standing over the crates, a troubled look on his face. When he had asked gruffly what the problem was, he had shrugged, uneasy.

Gibbs could read it in those green eyes. The sudden understanding that, had they not been there, every single one of those guns would have ended up in a violent hand. Twelve hundred people, suddenly armed.

He had asked him him if he was okay, and Tim admitted he wasn't quite.

* * *

"There is nothing here, Agent Gibbs."

"Go back to the far side, work your way back."

"Sir, we tried that. There ain't nothing here. We should go search in the next area, cover more ground."

"Can't you see the ground? It's been swept clean. Someone was here."

"Could have just been the wind."

"I will stay and search with Agent Gibbs."

"Well, then, guess we have to stay too."

* * *

_Sometimes... I guess I feel like we're not winning._

_We're not winning._

He remembers McGee had stiffened, looked at him sharply.

_Can't ever win this fight. Tug of war, McGee. We just keep pulling._

McGee had said nothing, and he had left it at that. Let him to frown at those weapons again. He could see him shake it away, dismiss it as cynicism.

Perhaps it was. Didn't make it any less true, though.

* * *

"McGee..."

"…"

"T-Tim...?"

"…"

* * *

Light is almost gone.

Still there, still searching. Knew the woods well by now. The rest were still searching somewhere far off, but hope had faded and the faces he saw had grown tight and pale.

All that was left was his gut telling him it was the woods. By the dirt in the treads of the dead man's shoes, it was these woods.

He sits on a rock, collects his breath. The shadows are gathering in the trees, it's getting harder to see. Moon's starting to glow. Ziva and two others are moving distantly through the trees with flashlights flickering.

In twenty minutes, they are going to call the search off. The area is too big, and they cannot search in the dark.

So he sits and tries to think, searches through his head for anything that could save them in the last twenty minutes. For he knows that if they leave, McGee and Tony will never return.

But there is nothing. He has no ideas, no last minute tricks. Just Abby, and that accusing voice. _It's always just you against them, and we sit here and we die because we know you, and we don't know why. You never ask from help, you never listen._

All he can do is shuts his eyes, and know she's right.

Then he hears it, somewhere under his feet.

Water.

_She told him not to get his shoes wet._

* * *

"Here!"

* * *

He can see stars.

McGee floats in the water beside him, and there is flashing lights high above him. He hears his name echo and echo and echo down.

He tries to call out, tries to climb up, but he can barely move. He sinks under the water, splutters as they call.

He wants to shake McGee, but he's got nothing left. All he has is trying to float and keep the light above him.

* * *

"Tony! McGee!"

"We need to get them out, he's not moving-"

"I've got a rope in the truck..."

"Quick-"

"It's going to take them a while to get here."

"Gibbs, he keeps going under the water..."

* * *

Water rushes over his head. He flails weakly, comes back up. Half swallows air and water, sinks back down.

_This isn't worth it._

His arms have frozen to stone.

Something brushes his ear. He yelps, flounders. A rope hung in a noose bumps against his cheek, and he has the wild idea that maybe the Angels of Mercy have come to give him a quicker alternative to drowning. He grips it weakly, and it grows suddenly taunt. It moves upward, but his fingers slip off.

He just doesn't have the strength. Just trying to keep his head up and eyes open, can't grab the thing dangling before his nose. Nor can he give it to McGee. He's tied himself too tight to the wall.

The voice he's been trained to obey without thought comes echoing down, but he faces it with his cheek frozen against stone.

_Can't I… I can't._

* * *

"Tony. Tony!"

"Someone needs to go down there."

"No, Ziva."

"I am the lightest. I can tie the rope around them."

"…"

"Gibbs."

"…Okay. Okay."

"You had better hold this. I do not think Abby will ever forgive me if I get it wet."


	4. Part IV

**- PART IV –**

Down into the dark.

Longer way down than she realised. Though at first they could hear one (but only one) moving, now there's just the sound of water. She wishes they could let her down faster. If they had died while she was waiting above, she does not think she could bear it.

She gasps as the water touches her; it claws up her clothes, trying to drag her under.

She can see only very faintly. McGee is bound to the wall, silent and unmoving. Tony clings weakly to the cracks in the stone and is barely coherent. He touches her to check she's real (hands like a corpse) and asks if she's seen the Border Collie, which she assumes is a sign he is not quite dead yet. She tells him she is real, and he goes quiet.

McGee hangs limp, rope around his chest and eyes rolled up in his head. She can't find a pulse at all.

_Oh, McGee._

Tony holds him weakly with the other arm, shakes him and tells him he hasn't remembered what movie it was yet. She cuts the rope in two places, and he slumps down into the water. The noose goes under his arms, and she pulls it tight.

He is lifted up, water streaming down. There are dark drops among the pale ones, but they are just as cold.

She pulls Tony aside as McGee is winched upward; she does not trust the rope, and if he falls it might be the end of them. Tony's eyes move, but it does not seem he sees her. This is too much for his cold addled brain to cope with, and it's shutting down.

He's out. She can see the stars, and somehow it makes her chest ache.

The rope falls again, splashes between them. She throws it over him, tightens it around his chest. So close.

* * *

"We... not leaving you down here."

"What?"

"We're not... leaving you... alone."

"I know, Tony. Keep a grip on the rope, yes?"

* * *

She understands what he was trying to say only when they drag him above her, and she is left to float in the echoey silence. She can hear the sound of her own breath bouncing, feel the water running over her. She is very glad for the little light there is; when she realises they were in here in the dark, she feels a wave of hate for him.

The voice, the coward on the other end of the phone. After this, he has not long for this world. Not if she has a breath left in her body.

Her arms are starting to cramp up, she grips the metal pipe in the wall. The water sighs around her, and she pulls herself out of it as much as she can. From her higher angle, she pauses.

There's something white in the water below her. She turns to look, but the rope hits the water and she turns away, grips it with numb fingers.

It rises up with a jerk, and she leaves the sound of the whispering water behind.

She shuts her eyes for the trip up; the lurch is making her feel sick, and she only knows she reaches the top when Gibbs grabs her by the scruff of her jacket and hauls her over the edge. She sees Tony and McGee spread out over the grass, oxygen masks on their faces. Behind them the blades of a helicopter turn slowly.

She lets her face sink down into the grass. Too early for relief, but she can take in a breath. A single breath, and that will be enough.

Beside her, Gibbs's phone beeps as they move back into the cell reception.

It's a text.

* * *

**Don't forget -**  
**It's only dead when cold and dead.**

* * *

Cold and dead.

It is certainly how McGee appears on the stretcher, face white and waxlike with his eyelashes looking too dark.

But one of the paramedics listens, and says that somewhere deep down, his heart is still beating. Weak, at a fraction of what it should; but still there.

It remains through the helicopter ride to the nearest hospital; is still there when he is wheeled into emergency.

His heart is still beating as they wait outside, silent.

They are pretending not to notice the agents guarding the doors, sitting close. Abby says something about a mammalian diving reflex, but her explanation of seals and penguins leaves him at a loss. It is Ducky who says what he needs to hear: McGee has slowed to a complete stop to try and live through the cold at the bottom of the well; but whether he can get out of it is another matter entirely.

* * *

…

…

"Tony?"

"Hnnnh…."

"Tony."

"...What's with the hospital scrubs?"

"I had to remove my wet clothing."

"Huh. Sorry I missed it."

"I bet. How are you feeling?"

"Still freezing. Even with all this foil. Feels very _Alien_, ya know?"

"I have no idea."

"...How's the McPopsicle?"

"Still unconscious, but his pulse is increasing."

"You need to sell your optimism a bit better, Ziva. Smile more."

...

"Will he wake up?"

"They are… uncertain. They are still warming him up."

"Like a microwave dinner. Toaster. McPoptart."

…

"Were we...?"

"There is nothing to be gained from that, Tony. Rest."

* * *

Four hours since he was brought back. Abby and Ducky have moved on from discussing active rewarming to frostbite and the whether the cold water might actually save his fingers. Ziva hands him a coffee but says nothing.

Tony is awake and, though half dead from exhaustion, will live.

_That's one._

A doctor comes and reports that McGee's heart rate is increasing, slowly. Blood has been allowed to return to his limbs, and it's moved into both his hands and feet to leave no grey areas.

But still he does not wake.

* * *

"He's stabilising. Now it's just a matter of waiting."

"Can... can we see him?"

"If you'd like."

* * *

The room is too warm, too humid. He starts to sweat, and it feels very odd after so much cold.

His skin is pinker, darker; bruises are beginning to show through, mottled and purple. All of him seems to be swelling. There are dark marks across his chest where he had bound himself up with the rope. It was the only thing that saved him; through his half-listening to Abby and Ducky, he knows he should have died of exhaustion long before they found them. Tony was almost gone when they pulled him out; an hour more, and he would have been.

_Was that the plan? Let them die in front of each other? Leave them in the dark with the other dead beside them?_

He knows that was only part of it. The plan was to jerk their strings, watch them dance.

Abby jerks upright suddenly, bends forward. Ducky turns, calls for the doctor.

For twenty one hours after he took that phone call, his eyes open.

* * *

"Hey, Tim."

"H-hey... Boss..."

* * *

And so, he lives. They sit and watch the doctor check him over, and the consensus is he just might make it through.

Ducky's glasses are misting up a little; Abby hugs him very gingerly once the doctor leaves. He looks bewildered, dazed. He's barely conscious and will probably be in the hospital for weeks, but he lives. Ziva touches his hand gently as if to make sure of it, grips it gently.

McGee's eyes track over them, fall on him. Even through his exhaustion, his weakness, there is something there in those green eyes. There is still light in there, even after being in that dark place.

Gibbs smiles, and McGee's eyes crinkle. They have things they will say, later. When he has had time, it will be a long talk indeed.

Right now, all he does is ask quietly just what on earth happened.

Ziva and Ducky sit and tell him, though no one really believes it will explain it any more. In the distraction, Gibbs slips out.

After a moment, Abby follows.

* * *

"Gibbs."

* * *

He turns, looks at her. The light from the grey twilight is shining through the window, and he suddenly looks so very old.

That despair she saw in her Lab is back; it had never really left him.

They have slipped out a gap in the hunter's net, but he can wait. He has the advantage of time and endless patience. Because these guys never let things be.

She wants to tell him it doesn't matter. It could be every bad guy against them, and they'd still stand where they were. Because no one else will.

He smiles at her faintly.

* * *

"I know, Abby."

"…Okay."

* * *

That's all she says.

McGee's eyes are shut, dozing. Ducky nods a little in his chair, and Ziva sits curled in hers, eyes shut. Abby sits calm beside him, holding his hand and watching as they sleep. This is the night where they can lie down exhausted, only to rise tomorrow and begin again.

He shuts the door, moves away; as he passes Tony's room, he sees his eyes flick open and turn. At Gibbs's nod, his lip twitches a little, and he at last sleeps.

But Gibbs does not stop. He moves to the window to watch the dawn, red and burning in the east. Without looking at his watch, he knows.  
Twenty two hours is up.

As if on cue, his phone rings.

He takes it out of his pocket, considers it for a moment. But as he flicks it open there is a click, and the sound of a dial tone.

He stares at it for a long time, thinking.

Perhaps he waited too long.  
Or maybe that was the message itself.

Time would tell, one way or another.

He closes the phone, shuts his eyes.

**- END -**


End file.
